Mirror, Mirror
by FishingAtTheCreek
Summary: Spain is forcefully pulled into a new, terrifying world, and it's up to Romano (along with a few other unnecessary nations) to save him. However, will he be able to help his ex-caretaker when the villain is...Romano himself? 2ptalia, because that's not a cliche, is it?
1. Into the Mirror

**I just thought to myself, "well you already have so many unfinished stories. How about another one?"**

**Please just kill me. Just enD ALREADY HELP. **

**I'll explain the complex bullshit at the end. Just enjoy the beginning, if you can. **

* * *

The Spaniard let out a small yawn, wiping sweat off his forehead with a dirt-stained hand. Picking tomatoes was tons of fun, but the amount of work that went into it made him absolutely exhausted. Unfortunately, he wasn't even finished for the day, he still had about three hours more of work cut out for him. Still, a little break never hurt anybody. He went inside of his home, sighing happily at the cool air that greeted him.

"Hey, _bastardo_, we aren't finished yet!" Spain glanced at the owner of that sharp, insistent voice, who was standing in the doorway and purposely letting all of the cold air out. He received a venomous glare in return. "Don't think I'm going to do all the work either! You're not my boss anymore, so I can leave if I want to!" The Italian placed a defiant hand on his hip, a small huff escaping his lips.

Despite this verbal abuse, Spain smiled at the short, lithe man in front of him. "Of course not, Romano. I'm just taking a quick break! It's really hot out there, you know? Have a drink, and maybe a quick snack! Want something to eat?" He knew the short-tempered Italian couldn't resist the offer of food, especially food from his former boss.

"Well...fine. Just something small though! I'm not spending the whole night at this dump just because you want to have a meal!" He slammed the door shut, sitting down at the little table located in the kitchen. Spain knew better, Romano always ended up staying the night when he came to pick tomatoes, it was unavoidable. However, the last time he pointed this out, the Italian nation threw a fit and kicked Spain in the stomach in retaliation. Not exactly his cutest memory of Romano.

Spain nodded, looking down at his hands in disgust. "Let me wash up first in the bathroom, okay, Roma? You can use the kitchen sink, if you like." Yet another thing to remember about the shorter male, he disliked being in both the bathroom and bedroom alone with Spain (of course, the Spaniard could usually convince him after hours of begging to give in to the second one). Romano shrugged, disinterested with this information. With a little hum, he spun on his heels and made the short trip to the bathroom upstairs.

As he washed his filthy hands, Spain thought of how nice it was to have Romano over, despite how much the tiny nation complained. It was calming having his ex-henchman here with him, to have him yell angrily whenever Spain made him blush, to have him smile in the cutest possible way when he picked a particularly plump tomato. He adored Romano. Loved him, even.

The Spaniard dried his hands off, looking somewhat forlorn. He loved Romano. More than a nation should love another. He just wanted to kiss the Italian sometimes, to make him out of breath and panting and wanting more. Spain longed to feel soft skin beneath his fingertips, to have Romano chant his name breathlessly over and over again.

But these thoughts were forbidden. He had practically raised the shorter man, what would he think if Spain just outright kissed him one day? He'd probably cry, and yell at his ex-caretaker, before running back to his own country. This was a good relationship. Spain couldn't be the one to mess it up over some filthy desires.

He looked at himself in the mirror. He wasn't so bad, was he? If there was anything he liked about his appearance, it was his eyes. They were a bright, vivid green. Green to match one of the colors on a certain nation's flag...

Spain was forcefully torn away from these thoughts by two hands suddenly shooting out of the mirror and grabbing his face.

His immediate reaction was to stand there, dumbfounded as the hands felt up his cheeks, caressed his neck, and pet his shoulders. All at once, he was yanked face first toward his own reflection. Finally gathering his wits, he screamed, holding onto the sink tightly.

"Romano? Romano!" He shrieked, as his face was tugged closer. He was squirming so much, how strong were these hands? "_Ayúdame_! _Por favor ayúdame_!" He turned over, now sitting on top of the sink. The hands did not cease, once wrapped around his neck to pull him back, the other mysteriously absent. Somehow, it was still difficult to fight off one.

"Oh, for fuck sake, what is i-" Romano opened the door, freezing up at the sight he was greeted with. Spain was about to be pulled into...the mirror?

"Don't just stand there!" Spain cried out, hysterical. "Pull me back in! Romano, please do-" But when something sharp pricked his neck, the Spaniard was unable to speak. His eyes shut, mind slowly going blank. Had this person just...injected something into him?

Spain let himself be pulled into the mirror, the horrified screams of Romano fading away. He felt very tired, but peaceful. He was being put onto a soft, warm bed. How nice. Do mirrors usually have beds within them? Sounded like a silly thought.

He heard someone giggle, and felt a baby soft hand stroke his cheek. That felt nice... "Go to sleep, _mio_ _amore_. You're home now..." crooned a soothing voice above him. As consciousness slipped away from Spain, the last thought to process was '_that sounds just like Romano...'_

* * *

"So Spain was just...pulled through the mirror?" England asked, for the umpteenth time. Seriously, how stupid was this asshole? He was just as thick as his eyebrows. Romano was really getting sick of him asking the same question instead of helping. Spain was pulled through the fucking mirror, they needed to do something!

"Yes, he was pulled into the God forsaken mirror. How many times are you going to ask? Now get the fuck in there, and get him back before I kick your ass!" Romano barked, though everyone present in the room (the Allied assholes, along with Veneziano and his two lame friends) knew that this was an empty threat. Both Italies feared the British nation to this day.

America stepped forward, tapping on the glass. "I don't know how you expect us to. We'll break the thing if we tried, then Spain would never come back!" He watched Romano grow pale at these words, and yelped when he was smacked in the arm by China. "What? What'd I say?"

France tsked, shaking his head. "This is a waste of time. I think that perhaps the adorable, little Romano was asleep, and his dreams got too vivid. I don't see how Spain could have been pulled into a mirror."

Romano tried to attack the Frenchman, but was pulled back by his insufferable little brother. "Fuck off, wine bastard! I was not dreaming! I saw Spain get pulled into that damn mirror with my own two eyes!"

"That is impossible!" France countered, but was brushed off by England.

"No, it isn't. I think that Romano is telling the truth," he said, earning surprised looks from everyone. Unfazed, he continued, "You see, there is a universe that exists. It is identical to ours in every way. Except for one thing, and that's the nations that rule it. They are much more gritty, and less sympathetic, but they are technically us. Sort of the like the parallel versions to ourselves. They may run their country the same, but the way they treat each other is...well, less desirable than even us."

"What does this have to do with big brother Spain being pulled into the mirror?" Veneziano inquired, hugging trying to hug both Romano and Germany, but his brother's dislike of his friend prevented this.

"Every hundred years, our universes are close enough that, for a few days, we can actually interact with one another through magic. Since they are our opposites, in a sense, any kind of reflection can work as a portal to their world." England paused, tapping the mirror just like America had. "I think that someone from that world used magic to open the portal and pull our Spain in."

Romano, being the only one who seemingly wasn't stunned by this, crossed his arms and walked closer to the mirror. "So we need to go to this place and get Spain back, right? Fine. So do your shitty magic already and get him back."

England made an exasperated sound. "It isn't that simple, Romano! I can't just say any old spell to open the portal, there's a very specific one I need! Not to mention, that Spain's house hardly has any magical element to it in the slightest." He thought for a moment, turning his attention to the other nations. "If you'd like to come with me, I'd appreciate it, but we're going to do this at my house. We won't be able to go to the exact place Spain was taken, but I'm sure it won't be difficult tracking down who did this. Who's willing to go?"

"Of course, dude!" America proclaimed, slapping England on the back with a good natured grin. "Let's do this! We're gonna be heroes!"

One by one, the other nations agreed to help as well, Veneziano being the most excited to help. "I already have a white flag ready in case we need to surrender!" he chirped.

England glanced at Romano, raising a single, bushy eyebrow. "Are you going to come as well?"

Romano was looking into the mirror, gazing at his own reflection. He could have saved Spain. He should've grown a pair, and pull him back into the bathroom. This was his fault. "_Sí_. I'm going to beat the shit out of the weirdo who did this."

He'd make it up to Spain. No matter what.

* * *

Spain woke up with his head resting on someone's lap, and a hand stroking his hair in a comforting way. It was nice, and it didn't occur to him then that he had just been pulled through his bathroom mirror into an unknown dimension.

"_Buongiorno_, my pet. Did you sleep well?" cooed the person who he was resting against, his finger twirling a lock of brown hair. For a second, Spain was relieved. This had to be Romano, it sounded just like him. "You kept tossing and turning, _amore_, I was worried you were having a terrible dream..."

The names disturbed Spain, but just waking up made everything disoriented, and he simply figured Romano was being nice. "Oh, I was, Roma! I dreamt about being pulled into the mirror..." He opened his eyes, glancing up at the Italian. "It was just so-" He suddenly stopped, eyes wide with horror.

This wasn't Romano. Well, no, that wasn't quite true. His facial features were identical to the grumpy nation's, as was the special curl that bounced cheerfully. The similarities ended there. Instead of the auburn color Spain was so accustomed to, this lookalike had sunny blond hair. His eyes were fuchsia, with a mischievous spark to them. Replacing the dirty work clothes the nation had on before was an expensive looking white suit, with a pink scarf thrown carelessly around his neck.

He was grinning down at Spain, aware of the other's realization. "Surprise! Did you really think I was your Romano? As cute as you are, you're a little thick." He tapped his head playfully. "I would've thought that the adorable names I picked out would've clued you in! Guess not!"

"Eh?" Spain tried to get away from this double, but found he could barely wriggle away from the blond's lap. Looking down, it occurred to him that his left foot was cuffed to the bed. "What's going on? Who are you?" He tried to shake his leg desperately, to free himself of the restraint.

"Calm down, darling, you're going to hurt yourself if you keep doing that," he chided, running his fingers through his hair with an almost fascinated look on his face. "I'll explain everything to you. Just lay back and relax, okay?" Spain found it difficult to just lean back into his captor, but the Italian's insistent look made it clear he had no choice in the matter. So he laid back, resting his head on his lap once again.

"That's better. Now then, an explanation..." Spain felt the other's fingers tap his arm in thought. "Well, I am Romano. Just not exactly the one you know. Right now, you're where all the nations of the world exist, but we're nothing like you guys. Think of it as an alternate universe of sorts. Instead of your cruel, wicked Romano, you have me! Sweet, loving, fashionable Flavio."

Spain felt personally offended that this person had called his Romano wicked. "Flavio? I thought you said you were Romano..."

"I am. See, we're a lot more population-oriented here. We like to interact with our citizens much more than you silly nations. So we like to use human names to give the people something to identify with. Besides, wouldn't it be easier to just call me a different name than Romano?" Flavio inquired, running a thumb down the Spaniard's cheek. He didn't wait for an answer. "The reason you're here, _Spagna_, is really quite simple. I'm in love with you."

Spain jerked, nearly falling off of Flavio's lap, but the Italian held him in place tightly. "Love? I don't understand...you don't even know me..." Spain protested, earning a soft chuckle from his captor.

"Oh, but I do. I've been watching you, Spain, for so long. I fell in love with how kind and gentle you are, with how you always seem to look for the bright side of things. I was so jealous that my counterpart got to have you. He doesn't even appreciate all you do for him..." Flavio shook his head, a sour look on his delicate features. Then, he smiled wistfully. "I would appreciate you."

The Spanish nation was getting a bit uncomfortable hearing these things, not to mention the fact that this person had been watching him. Still, he tried to be polite. "I'm flattered, Flavio. But I can't stay here with you. I have my own Romano to get back to. I know he seems mean, but he's just shy about his feelings." After being with him for so long, Spain truly believed this. However, the Italian above him only scoffed.

"I'm sure," he said sarcastically, with a little shake of his head. "But I don't want you to stay here forever. I mean, how unfair would that be? One day with you, that's all I ask. Tomorrow morning, if you really want to return to your world, I'll let you go without any trouble."

Spain raised an eyebrow in disbelief. "One day? That's it?"

"That's it."

"Well...I guess it wouldn't hurt," he agreed reluctantly with a frown. Would a day really be so bad? Flavio didn't seem like he was a violent type. Then again, he did manage to kidnap and restrain Spain. "But you'll let me go tomorrow morning, right when I wake up, _sí_?"

"Cross my heart and hope to die, _bello_," he chirped, doing a crisscross motion on his chest. "Now, since that's out of the way, are you hungry? Thirsty, maybe?"

Spain opened his mouth to decline, then shut it slowly. Come to think of it, he never got a drink or a snack after all of the exhausting work he did in his universe. His mouth was dry, stomach empty. "Yes to both...if it isn't too much trouble, that is."

Flavio sighed happily, kissing one of the Spaniard's cheeks quickly, making the other flinch. "You are just too sweet! I can't even take it!" With a chuckle, he reached over to the bedside table, taking a bright red tomato and a black cup.

Spain was a bit put off with the kiss, and took the two items without thinking. "_Gracias_..." He looked down at the cup, frowning at the peculiar hot pink liquid. "What is this?"

"Oh, that? It's this fantastic juice that's really popular in Italy right now!" exclaimed the Italian, with an excited grin. "My brother bought so much of it, so I have a whole lot for me and you! Taste it, isn't it divine?"

With a reluctant nod, Spain took a sip, nearly jumping back in shock. This drink wasn't just divine, it was _heavenly_. The best thing to ever grace the nation's tongue. It tasted like...all the good things in life. He nearly choked as he drank the whole thing, whining slightly when it was all gone. Flavio's tinkling giggle brought him out of his trance.

"Good, huh? I'll give you more later, we can't waste the whole supply." He kissed his cheek again, and Spain didn't flinch this time, as if he expected it. "Eat your tomato. They're your favorite, aren't they?"

The more that Spain ate, the more he began to feel comfortable around this person. Flavio had been watching him, knew everything about him, and fell in love? After Romano had told him again and again how ridiculous he was and how much he hated him. It wasn't creepy, it truly was flattering. Even more so, it made the nation feel loved.

Perhaps he could enjoy this day after all.

* * *

**Wow this is so dumb but I'm going to continue it because I am awful. **

**So I love the 2Ps and? They deserve more love, especially 2p!Romano. My baby boy. **

**The rating will go up because sex and yeah. Okay bye feedback is nice please**


	2. Stay with me

**wait what you guys actually liked the first chapter?**

**there's still time for disappointment yet. It'll happen eventually, my friends.**

**In this chapter: magic portals and more explanations. Goody. **

**PS _don't_ translate any of that Latin ok **

* * *

Romano didn't think it was a big deal that he had never been in England's house, because when in his existence did he ever need to go there? He only went to people's houses either when he was comfortable around them or when they had good food. He was still a bit frightened of the British bastard, and his food _definitely_ wasn't worth the travel. So he thought nothing when he walked into the large home, as it had normal furniture, and was honestly a little dull. Of course, various teacups were scattered throughout the place, but that was expected. The freak practically bathed in the stuff.

However, his careless mood changed rapidly as they went into the basement, and there he saw the proof behind some nations calling England insane. All around the room were cauldrons and heavy books and...was that...a pentagram painted on the floor? Oh god, this was a mistake.

The Italian scurried behind Germany, because if they were going to die in this room, he wanted the potato bastard to be the first to go. "What the fuck? What is all of this bullshit?"

England looked offended by Romano's horror. "It's obviously for magical purposes, Romano! You act like you've never been in a spell caster's house before!"

"Because I haven't? Holy shit!"

Russia wandered over to a cabinet, peering at a jar of some kind of squishy, red substance. "Looks normal to me." It wasn't obvious to anyone in the room that he was joking, so the nations just looked at him warily.

"Anyway, we aren't staying here for long. I just need to get the spell that allows us into the alternate world. Then as long as we have a mirror, we can go and collect Spain, and end this silly problem. It's easy." The Englishman picked up a large, dusty book from a pile on the floor, blowing on the cover and peering at the title. "Ah, here we are. _Adnotabant seniores asinus incantamenta._"

"What kind of spooky wizard language is that supposed to be?" America asked, slurping loudly through a straw. Where had he even gotten soda? Americans should have been prohibited, in Romano's opinion.

"Latin," replied the Englishman with a scoff, opening the book and coughing as dust hit his face. "It's been too long...I should really organize these better..." he mumbled to himself, flipping the pages to the book. "Let's see...transportation portals...intergalactic portals...ah!" He perked up, beaming at the bemused nations. "Here we are, reflection portals! Come on now, follow me." He turned around, walking further into the strange basement, and the group scurried along. England presented them with a large, lavish mirror, multiple designs along the frame.

"Is this what we will be...traveling through?" France inquired hesitantly, with a small frown.

"Yes. Hopefully, if that git didn't give the mirror to someone else, we will arrive at my counterpart's home. Although he's a moron, he'll be able to help. I think." He looked down at the book, biting his lip as he pressed a palm to the cool, hard surface. "Silence, please. I don't want any disturbances."

Obediently, the nations kept quiet, looking from the mirror to England. They weren't sure whether to feel afraid, confused, or doubtful. The British nation cleared his throat, before proclaiming loudly,

"_Tolle de nobis_

_Accipe nunc nobis_

_Speculum, speculum,_

_Da mihi quod meum est_!"

For a moment, there was nothing. The countries stared, unsure whether to call out England's false spell. America opened his mouth to do so, but stopped when the British nation's arm disappeared through the mirror, making them all jump. Veneziano let out a little scream, holding onto Germany tightly.

"It worked..." Japan murmured, his usual calm expression replaced with one of shock. England looked just as surprised as he, and he experimentally slid his other arm into the mirror, which also went in as if the surface was nonexistent. He let out a small sigh of relief. He glanced at the stunned nations, a smug smile forming.

Before he could boast about his magical abilities, he was suddenly yanked into the portal, his figure disappearing in an instant. Each nation screamed this time, stepping away from the object fearfully.

All except for America. He took a deep breath, before running after his ex-big brother, ignoring the urging of his friends to come back. He was gone as well, a small yelp escaping his lips before he dashed in.

One by one, each of the other nations entered as well. None knew if they would ever even return from the trip, but they couldn't just leave two of the most powerful countries in another dimension. Romano was the last one to go, and he had his doubts. What if they couldn't come back? What if they were somehow slaughtered by their counterparts within seconds? He gazed at the exit to the basement, wanting to just go home and sleep some more.

But what about Spain? He couldn't just let the idiot down again. What if he was hurt somewhere, tortured by some psychotic person? Romano wouldn't be able to live with himself if something happened to the man who raised him. So balling his fists tightly, eyes screwed shut, he charged into his own reflection.

He felt a sudden, cooling sensation, and opened his eyes wide. It was dark and silent, the Southern Italian couldn't hear a thing. Before he could cry out for England or Veneziano or _somebody_, something hard hit the back of his head, making him fall. He wanted to scream, but whatever it was kept hitting and hitting until he felt consciousness slip away.

* * *

Spain decided that maybe being kidnapped wasn't so awful. Sure, he was worried about how the nations he knew were reacting to this, but it was only for a day. What was the harm? Besides, Flavio was really a sweet person. Yes, his vivid descriptions about how much he loathed Romano made the Spanish nation feel a bit uncomfortable, but other than that, he was very nice. As the hours passed, the two of them curled up on Flavio's huge, bright pink bed and just talked. He told the Italian about his fears, his desires, and everything in between. Amazingly, the blond listened intently to these things, which Spain was happy to see. It felt nice to have another person be interested in his life for once.

"...and sometimes, he blames me for his mistakes!" Spain ranted on, his usual bright smile replaced with an irritated frown. Flavio nodded, eyes never straying from his companion's face. They were laying close on the bed, legs tangled carelessly and chests touching. Somehow, neither were bothered with the intimacy of this position. "I love him, I really do, but he's a handful. I just wish it wouldn't be so hard to figure out if he cares about me. Romano is strange with his feelings...he doesn't show them when they are truly pleasant..."

"Poor Spain," simpered Flavio, stroking the other's cheek. "All the work you do, and that's how he treats you? Awful. He's ungrateful."

Spain opened his mouth to agree, then quickly shut it. Had he really thought, for a moment, that this Italian was correct about his own? "I know you wouldn't tell from my complaints, but Romano is sweet when he wants to be. Like...he made dinner for me last week." Even the eternally cheerful Spaniard thought this was a pretty lame example. Plus, it was only half true. Romano had prepared the pasta, and Spain had done everything else.

"I see! Wasn't that so nice of him? I was wrong, preparing dinner definitely makes up for everything." Flavio rolled his eyes, then smiled expectantly at the nation. "Tell me more."

It was always strange to hear Flavio speak about Romano with such venom. Spain knew he disliked his counterpart because of how cruel he could be, but it seemed like Flavio downright despised his parallel self. "I've talked enough. Let's talk about you! Like, what's your version of me like?"

Clearly, the Italian was not prepared for this question. His mouth dropped a bit, before he quickly composed himself. "_My_ Spain? You want to hear about Santiago?"

"Is that his name? Well, if you're willing to talk about it. You don't have to." He offered a warm smile, one that made the blond want to lean in and kiss him until he was breathless. However, he needed to save that for later.

"He's...very different from you," began Flavio slowly, his eyes losing their mischievous spark. "He's not as passionate as you are. In fact, I'd even call him lifeless. The only things he cares about are money and power. He has no heart, really..."

This startled Spain, as his nation was normally known for its passion. "But he raised you, _sí_?"

Flavio nodded. "He was my idol when I was a kid. I used to think I could break him down. Make him a better person, you know? But no matter how hard I tried...he could never smile, or laugh, or cry, or anything. He was an empty shell. He would just tell me what to do and if I disobeyed he'd..." The Italian shook his head vigorously, eyes shut. "I'm not sure how you fall in love with someone so blank and cold, but I did. I loved him _so_ much. I did everything for him, whether it was lying, cheating, or stealing. Finally, one day, I told him that I loved him and he said..." He let out a tearful, broken laugh. "He said 'so?' Isn't that a _hilarious_ response to a love confession? I laughed and laughed until I was crying, it was just so_ funny_!"

He stopped, catching his breath. When he glanced back at Spain, he noticed how frightened the nation looked at this outburst. Flavio smiled, ignoring the tears that were sliding down his cheeks. "But it's okay. Because I'm in love with you now. Even if you don't love me back...you're still so much better than him. You didn't laugh at me when I told you. You'd never treat me like that."

"You know nothing about me," Spain blurted out, before he could stop himself. The way that Flavio said these things made his gut twist unpleasantly for some reason. "I could be as bad as him..."

The Italian chuckled, placing a hand on Spain's cheek and pulling him closer. "I've already told you, I know everything there is to know about you. What you like and dislike, your history, and even your language. I prefer Italian, obviously, but yours is beautiful." He shut his eyes once again, leaning in closer. "_Everything_ about you is beautiful..."

When their lips touched, Spain jerked back, falling off the bed and onto the floor. He laid there for a moment, before getting onto his feet and dashing to the door. He needed to leave. He wasn't quite sure why hearing those things terrified him, but they did. He didn't feel safe here. However, when Spain turned the doorknob, he couldn't open it. Locked with no locks or keyholes anywhere. Cold realization hit him. Flavio had locked the door from the outside, so neither of them could get out...

Before he could try any other methods to escape, he felt a sharp prick in his neck, identical to the one he felt before the Italian had pulled him into the mirror before. Immediately, he felt himself growing weak, his legs giving out. He looked up at Flavio sluggishly, only to see the blond holding a syringe, a disappointed look on his face. It was similar to one a mother wore when her child did something wrong.

"I thought I was being fair when I offered to let you go tomorrow, Spain," he said sadly, shaking his head, "but I guess not." With surprising ease, he pulled Spain back to the bed, propping him up against the headboard. Somehow, the Spaniard could not move any of his limbs. He didn't feel sleepy though, so Flavio must have injected something different into him than last time.

The Italian turned to fetch something, and Spain could only look forward, too weak to even move his head. When Flavio returned, he held in his hands the same black mug Spain had drank from before, with a straw this time. His captor placed the end of the straw into Spain's mouth, and the Spaniard took a small sip. His eyes widened when he tasted the liquid within. It was the same delectable drink from before.

As the Spanish nation sipped eagerly, Flavio sat on his lap, frowning. "I'm sorry I had to be so...cruel with my actions. It's just that you pulled away from me after I told you all of those personal things..._I_ didn't jump back when you kept telling me about Romano. I was hurt, Spain, and..." Tears began to form in his pretty, pink eyes. "I thought you were...disgusted by me or something. But it's okay. A lot of people are. Even my own brother can't stand me." He looked down, as if he was ashamed by this.

Spain felt awful right away, letting the straw slip from his mouth. He raised his arm, feeling as though it weighed a ton, and gradually taking the Italian's hand, his grip weak. "I should be the one apologizing. I overreacted, and I shouldn't have pushed you away like that. You don't disgust me at all, Flavio, really. I like you." He smiled hopefully at the blond. "Forgive me?"

Flavio's frown was quickly replaced with a satisfied smile, and he nodded. "I forgive you, _caro_. Don't scare me like that again, okay?" He leaned in and kissed the Spaniard again, their lips melding together perfectly. Spain did his best to return it, eyes fluttering shut.

For a moment, he forgot about Romano entirely. All he could think of was those hauntingly beautiful, fuchsia eyes...

* * *

Romano woke up next to his brother, who had somehow ended up in Germany's arms, much to his disgust. Immediately, he smacked Veneziano on his head, causing him to cry out and sit up.

"_Fratello_? Where are we...?" his brother asked, looking around. Romano wasn't sure himself, but it seemed like they were in England's basement...except all of the magic trinkets were gone. The room was completely empty, aside from the mirror they had traveled through and the nations, who were all sprawled out on the floor. The one nation that was missing was the bushy eyebrowed creep himself.

The Italian hissed, the back of his head aching. When he reached back to feel the wound, his hand returned with blood. Perfect. "I'm going to beat the shit out of that British fucker, wherever he is." He got to his feet, wobbling slightly, and stormed up the steps, ignoring his brother's cries to get back. He opened the door, walking to where he heard the asshole's voice, which happened to be the kitchen. "Okay, _idiota_, why were we-"

He stopped dead in his tracks at what he saw next. There was England, sitting at the kitchen table and looking vaguely nauseated. But that didn't catch his interest. What did were the two sitting across from him.

One was uncannily similar to England, except his hair was a cotton candy shade, and his eyes were swirls of blue and pink. His outfit matched his outrageous features, with a soft salmon dress shirt and a purple vest, completed with a bright turquoise bow tie. His cheeks were decorated with a splash of freckles, and the grin on his face was much too large to be comforting. "Ah, this must be your Romano! Just in time for cupcakes, poppet!" he chirruped, his smile growing even bigger, if that was possible.

The person next to him was a sharp contrast. His hair was a dark brown and his skin was only a few shades lighter. When he tipped his black sunglasses down a bit, Romano could see his unnaturally red eyes glaring out at him. He was scowling, and the Italian noticed the gap in between his front teeth, a fatal flaw in his somewhat attractive appearance. Resting on his shoulder was a wooden baseball bat, rusty nails sticking out from various parts on the top. "He just interrupted you, and you wanna offer him _cupcakes_?" he asked incredulously, his sharp Brooklyn accent startling the nation even more.

Romano looked at England, his eyes bulging. "Who the fuck are these people?" he demanded, stepping toward him hesitantly. He was the lesser of the evils, after all, even if he was still an asshole.

"Language," chided the pink-haired Englishman. "I do apologize, how rude of me not to introduce us. I'm Oliver, the better half of this one here." He pointed at England, giggling. He nudged the brunet sitting next to him playfully. "This is Allen, who you may know as America. Say hello, Allen."

Allen looked at Romano, his scowl only deepening. "Hey." He glowered at Oliver. "So, am I allowed to beat these half-ass nations to a pulp or what? They shouldn't even be here, you know? Fucking copycats." It was almost amazing how different this America was to the bubbly, idiotic one that was still in the basement.

Oliver shook his head, standing up and walking to the stove. He picked up a large magenta plate sitting on top of it. "Of course not. You already knocked them out, it would be _so_ barbaric to keep doing it over and over again. Besides, I actually would like to help with their little problem!" He skipped back to the table, putting the plate down. "But first, cupcakes anyone?"

England immediately took one of the treats, unusually quiet. Romano followed his action, peering at the peculiar red dessert. Allen shook his head. "You know I can't eat that shit, Ollie," he grumbled. "Don't you got anything vegan?"

"Not today, darling. Maybe next time," sang Oliver, beaming at the two other nations. "Now, about your predicament. I want to help you find your Spain. However, he may be a little hard to track down..."

"Wait," Romano interrupted, putting the cupcake down, "shouldn't we just go to the parallel Spain's house? I mean, if England's mirror took us to the same place, wouldn't that mean-"

"The thing is, Romano," England began, looking down at the sweet in distaste, "we really can't say for certain that the culprit is the parallel Spain. You see, the mirrors of this world are connected. If, say, China had one, and his other self had the same mirror, that means they could travel through them and end up at the same place. However, if China was _given_ the mirror by Russia, he would end up at the parallel Russia's home." He paused. "Does that make sense?"

Not at all, but they were wasting time. "Sure. But how do we find Spain then?" he inquired, nibbling the white frosting of the treat he was given. Surprisingly, it was delicious. At least this England could bake.

Oliver decided to explain this time. "That's the thing. We need to figure out if your Spain was given the mirror he was pulled through by another nation, or if Santiago gave away his mirror. Now, there is the chance that Santiago performed the deed himself but..." He chuckled. "I doubt that. That would require him to do work, which he wants no part of."

The Italian felt like his head was beginning to hurt from all of this information. "It was a bathroom mirror he was pulled through..." he said, trying to add something helpful into the conversation.

Allen snorted, resting his boot-clad feet on the table. "Doesn't matter, moron. From the way your Brit described the one he was pulled into, it could have been any mirror, not just a bathroom one."

Romano felt his face grow hot at this insult. "Who are you calling a moron, _bastardo_?"

"_Shush_!" England snapped, rubbing his temples. "Romano, please. We need to cooperate with these two, otherwise Spain is doomed. We don't have much time, so we have to act quickly!"

"What do you mean we don't have much time?" demanded Romano, eyebrows knitting in confusion.

"I didn't want to tell you this until later, but there's no point in waiting. The days we have with this universe are limited, to only two days. It began on midnight last night. Today is Sunday. If we don't get back to our dimension by Tuesday, at exactly 11:59 P.M., we will be stuck here for the next hundred years," he reported grimly.

Romano was frightened, how could he not be? The thought of staying with these insane nations was not desirable, even if he was with Spain. "Wouldn't the time differences fuck that rule up?"

England held up his watch, which was an hour ahead of the clock above him. "Whoever casted the spell first already made a set time for us. When this reads 11:59, that's when the portal closes. It won't matter if we're in a different time zone," he explained slowly, as if this was common knowledge and Romano's intelligence identical to a child's.

"God damn it. We better get him back now, then. Let's stop wasting time on fucking cupcakes." Romano slammed the dessert onto the table, smashing it immediately. The gooey insides made him feel sick.

"Once again, I must request that you don't swear," Oliver sang, and Allen gave a tight nod in agreement. "But I suppose it is time to go. We'll start with Santiago, seeing as he is our only suspect."

Romano stood, his expression fearful and determined. Sure, this would be dangerous. Not to mention very risky. The consequences for this mission were huge, they could be stuck with these psychopaths.

But he cared too much about Spain to let him stay here. When he got his hands on that tomato idiot, he was going to smack the shit out of him for scaring the Italian, before kissing him hard.

Even if they had to stay here for a hundred years, it wouldn't be so bad if he was stuck here with Spain.

* * *

** Man I didn't like this chapter. I don't know, I guess you guys are the judges. **

**Also I hope the rules for the mirror portals make some kind of sense. I could always go deeper if you want idec. **

**I might do a big flashback chapter for Flavio, because I've made myself interested in his story. Thoughts? **

**Give me some feedback I'm so thirsty. **


	3. I love you more

**I just want to say, the rating will most likely go up with this story. There are some things I have planned, and they aren't very kid-friendly, you know? Chances are, it'll go from T to M next chapter, where my main little scheme will play out. **

**Until then, enjoy the chapter! Even though this story isn't that popular, I like the small amount of people who enjoy it. Bless ur soul.**

**Also, may or may not want to pay attention to some of the things said by the characters. Even the little details.**

* * *

Once all the nations were awakened by Allen's booming voice (including Veneziano, who somehow fell asleep again when Romano left), the group headed to their first suspect; Santiago, who was this universe's Spain. Through the attitude and actions of Oliver and Allen, Romano came to realize that this Spaniard seemed to be drastically different from his own. Well, whatever. It didn't matter if he was the biggest douche in the world, they still needed his help, as quickly as possible.

Of course, seeing as they were in London, they would have to take a two hour flight to their destination. England insisted on using a teleportation spell, but Oliver shot that down immediately.

"Magic isn't really something I practice anymore, as I have been focusing more on baking," he explained as they boarded his personal airplane, his painful grin still in place. "So I'm afraid we're just going have to be patient and wait for a bit. What harm will two hours do?"

Romano, of course, was livid. "In two fucking hours, Spain could be hurt, you candy-coated bastard! His limbs could be ripped off and his eyes gouged out, replaced with goddamn tomatoes!" It disturbed him how Oliver's face lit up at this image, and the way he licked his lips. The Italian couldn't wait to grab his ex-caretaker and leave this place, for he would definitely go crazy if he had to spend more time with them.

Nothing eventful happened on the plane ride there, other than a bit more information about Oliver and Allen. Oliver had a passion for the culinary arts, specifically with pastries. He told the original nations of a secret ingredient he put in all of his desserts, and the malicious smile he had on promised that it wasn't anything innocent. Allen, on the other hand, was Oliver's partner in crime, and usually obtained the hidden ingredient for the Englishman. As Romano predicted, he was the one who knocked all of them out with his bat. As an apology, he wiped the mix of their blood off of the weapon. How kind.

Both of the parallel nations were intrigued by Romano especially, and asked him many questions, some more personal than others. For example, Allen asked him what he liked to eat (tomatoes and pasta, respectively) while Oliver inquired if he was romantically and/or sexually involved with Spain (of course not, you fucking pervert). The continuous interrogation was really starting to irritate Romano, more so than usual.

"Why the fuck do you need to know all of this?" he demanded, scowling. "It's Spain you're helping, not me. Shouldn't you be asking about him?"

Oliver chuckled. "Language. England already told us all we needed to know about him. Very cheerful, smiley, and a bit of a dolt."

The Italian shot the magic-obsessed douchebag a heated glare. Only he could tell people how stupid Spain was, that was just a fact. Who did he think he was? Like he wasn't an idiot either. "Well, then why are you interested in me?"

"Because your parallel self is also a suspect," Allen replied bluntly, concealing his crimson eyes with his tinted shades. "We decided it about fifteen minutes ago."

Romano's mouth dropped, and he looked at the two freaks. "What...wait a minute, why am I getting pinned to this? Whether it's a different me or not, you're still blaming South Italy! I want some evidence!"

Oliver actually rolled his eyes. "Well, there's a few reasons why we think it might be Flavio. The biggest being he was at my house right before a number of my spell books were stolen about fifty years ago. One of them being the book that contains the spell for the reflection portal. Another reason is..."

"He's nuts," finished Allen, snickering a bit. "Seriously, he's a loony, the craziest one out of all of us."

"Allen!" reprimanded Oliver, actually sounding serious for once. "That is no way to talk about another nation!" He sighed, glancing at the startled Romano. "I must apologize for his behavior. You see, Flavio isn't crazy, he's just a bit...off. He's always been. A few years ago, he had a mental breakdown, and tried to convince us that he was from another dimension, and that he didn't belong here. I suppose the pressure of taking care of his nation finally got to him. His brother, the other Italy, decided to lock him away into their house, so we haven't seen him since. I don't want to suspect him, with his mental state and all, but..." he trailed off awkwardly, hands folded in his lap.

Veneziano peeked over from the seat behind Romano. "Wait, I locked _fratello_ away? That sounds so cruel, though, I would never!" He hugged his brother, and for once, the elder allowed him to without any protest.

"Luciano is a lot different than you are," explained Oliver, with a sympathetic smile. "He thought it was the best method was to keep Flavio from embarrassing himself, rather than get help. I cannot interfere with any of the decisions they make, but...it does seem brash."

Allen snorted, crossing his arms. "Flavio was already messed up before that. He always tried to be so friendly to everyone, to the point of being creepy. If I could, I would've beat him with my bat a long time ago."

"I think he was just lonely, Allen. There's no need to be so crude..."

Romano just shook his head. "So my own damn self is a nutcase in this world? Great. I'm thrilled to meet him. Just as much as I'm happy to meet the blank version of Spain and the asshole version of my _fratellino_. This world is so fascinating, huh?" His sarcasm irritated even the most patient ones, but all the nations knew it was better to keep their mouths shut. Romano was just hurting, after all.

The Italian opened his mouth to say more, but was cut off by a rough jerk, signaling that the plane was landing. "We're here," reported Oliver, with a grin that looked far too excited to meet up with someone that apparently hated him.

* * *

Flavio had never been so happy before. Most of his existence was wasted on being a doting, loving servant for someone who felt nothing for him. After that, he meandered through life empty and sullen for a while...until he was locked in this room by his cold little brother. Luciano had said it was for his own good, and that it would only be for a while. That was five years ago.

However, as he rested against the snoozing Spain, he felt truly content. He was finally cuddling with the nation he loved dearly, even if it was a different version of him. A better version. Spain would love and care for him, more than Santiago ever did, and they'd live happily ever after. Even if the Spaniard didn't realize it yet.

He smiled to himself. Oh, but he would know in time. Spain would figure out that Romano was a rotten, selfish nation who only kept him around because it was convenient. He'd come to comprehend that Flavio was the only one who really loved and appreciate everything he did. Why would he want to go back to that dreary, boring universe? Everything the Spanish nation needed was right here. All he needed was Flavio.

The Italian was sure that he knew this, but Spain needed a little...nudge. Speaking of which, they were running low on the wonderfully pink nudge, Flavio would have to make more. He pecked the sleeping nation's cheek, chuckled when he stirred slightly, and stood from the bed. From the bedside table, he took a blood red candle and a match. He walked over to his closet, opening the door and marveling at the wonders that were inside.

Spanish flags. Hundreds of them, of all sizes, hung around the interior of the large wardrobe. He had been collecting them for ages, and they were still so beautiful. A symbol of the only thing he would ever love.

Flavio opened one of the drawers within the closet, pulling out a few items he would need. Cinnamon, holy water, and a single carnation. He inhaled the sweet scent of the flower, his smile widening slightly. From a chest deep within the wardrobe, he grabbed a small cauldron, the size of an infant, and a large dusty book, with the words _Affectionis Baustibus _in loopy cursive on the cover. After a quick glance to his beloved, he shuffled inside of the closet, bringing all the items inside, and shutting the door.

Lighting the candle was quite easy, as Flavio had practiced this many times, and he proved to be successful when the candle lit brilliantly. He placed it beside him, before opening the book to a page he had saved. Translating the Latin to his language was a lengthy process, but it had to be done. He skimmed the page, though he had this potion memorized.

"_Vicit Amentia Potionem, or the Infatuation Potion_

"_Only potion in this book capable of affecting nations of the world. Will give any consumer feelings of obsession and infatuation (hence the mixture's name), that are closely related to that of love. Works gradually, even in large doses. WARNING: this potion is not permanent, and the effects will vanish when the victim drinks any other liquid for a consistent amount of time. The more one drinks, the less one thinks."_

He giggled at the little rhyme at the end, as it was always so funny to him. Spain wouldn't need to think of anything, except for Flavio. This was hardly any kind of warning. He poured half of the holy water into the cauldron (_for your love is always holy_), a dash of cinnamon (_spice for brightening the dull unloved_), and dropping the carnation into the mixture (_optional; flower of the nation you desire_). Once they were all in, he reached up mindlessly, grabbing one of his many spare sewing needles from the chest. He pricked his finger hard, letting the blood pour out into the container, and chanting under his breath,

"_Diligunt me_

_Colunt me_

_Esse te in aeternum_

_Colunt me_

_Diligunt me_

_Semper pertinent ad me._"

After the spell was finished, his blood mixed with the flower, making it melt into the substance. The water went from rust to a bright, comforting pink, nearly identical to his eyes. He broke into a rather large grin, before opening the closet door and exiting with the liquid, humming a merry tune to himself. He filled the large pitcher beside the bed with the pink mixture, relief spreading throughout him. This would last a few more days. By that time, Spain would be utterly in love with Flavio, as it was meant to be. He'd never feel lonely again, with his beloved boss by his side.

He jumped when he heard the said nation shift. "Mmm...Flavio...?" he murmured sleepily, and what a cute voice he had when he was tired! The Italian had assumed the sleeping pills he drugged him with would knock him out for the whole night. Apparently not.

"Yes, _tesoro_?" he crooned, climbing onto the bed and snuggling back next to his prisoner. Immediately, he was welcomed with a hug and a shy kiss to his forehead. What a sweetie.

"M'tired...what time is it...?" he mumbled, those pretty green orbs just barely visible beneath his half-lidded eyes. "What were you doing?"

"Nothing. I was just hungry, that's all." He ran his thumb across Spain's smooth, delectable lips. Hungry indeed. Not exactly for food though. As much as Flavio wanted to play with Spain in his infatuated state, he would have to wait until he was completely under the spell. He still had a bit of self-control, which was no fun at all. "Go back to sleep, okay? Tomorrow you get to go back to your own world..." He chuckled at the thought.

Spain nodded, and fell back asleep within seconds. So the pills were effective after all, though surely not as effective as he would have liked. In retrospect, he should have used a lot more than eight.

Flavio ran his fingers through the nation's silky hair, humming a little tune to himself. He had been hurt by Santiago so much in the past. But now, everything would be okay. He had someone who would adore him, care for him, and worship the ground he walked on. Someone who would protect him from the scary things, and kiss him all better. His new lover would touch him in all the right places, and belong to him forever and ever.

Whether he liked it or not.

* * *

Romano stared at the house before him, bothered by the uncanny resemblance it had to Spain's home. Technically, it was Spain's house, in a sense. But while his tomato bastard always had his windows and a door opened, welcoming anyone who wished to enter, this house was closed up. It had a distinctive air of "don't even bother", and the civilians that passed avoided it like the plague.

"Are you sure this is Spain's home...?" Germany asked hesitantly, with a troubled frown. Clearly, the aura of the home was obvious to even the potato jerk.

"It looks super scary! Like...like a ghost could be haunting it..." America said, voice faltering as he mentioned the supernatural creature. His idiotic fear of ghosts was pathetic, but maybe it would keep him out. One less moron to deal with was good enough for Romano.

Oliver giggled at their reactions, opening the black fence in front of them. "This is Santiago's house! I've told you, he's not quite as friendly as your nation. I just hope he'll be willing to speak to us...we're not on the best terms right now..." He chuckled carelessly, leading the nations toward the doorway, knocking merrily on the rotting wooden door. There was a long pause, and the nations believed that it was a lost cause until a pretty, young maid answered the door.

She smiled politely at them. "_Hola. Cómo estás hoy_?"

"English," Allen said roughly, with a pointed glare. As if the poor girl should've known this.

She blinked, then gave them a sheepish grin. "Ah...I'm sorry," she apologized, her voice heavily accented and almost hard to understand. "You two are nations..." Oliver smiled warmly, nodding. "And...who are these men...?" The maid peeked at the others, knitting her eyebrows.

"Oh, we'll tell you once we're inside! Speaking of which, may we see Santiago?" Oliver chirruped, tilting his head.

"Um..." She frowned. "Mr. Santiago doesn't like guests. But..." She shrugged, turning around. "This way..."

They followed the girl into the house, and Romano was daunted by how empty it was. Silence all around, too much for comfort. The first thing that came to mind, for some reason, was death. But why?

The girl led them to another door, which she knocked on lightly. "_Se__ñor_? You have visitors..." She paused, and after hearing a muffled grunt of approval, she took them inside a dingy office, where this universe's Spain sat at a cracked desk. He looked as if he was lifeless, his violet eyes dull and permanently droopy. His hair was a mess of black, with a lone white streak running throughout his bangs. His face was lightly scarred, but there was one deep, prominent wound running through his lips, from right under his nose to the side of his chin. His expression darkened slightly at the sight of Oliver and Allen.

"Marisol," he said sharply to the young maid, who flinched, "I thought I told you not to let any nations in. These two are nations. Are you forgetful, or just stupid?"

She cringed, taking a step back from the Spaniard, whose glare was unforgiving. "Neither, _señor, _but they have guests, and I thought you could use some company. You've been so lonely for a long time, ever since Mr. Flavio left..."

"Who are you to decide what is good for me?" he asked, eyes narrowing. "I have not been 'lonely', I've been busy. Get them out of my sight right now, before I really get angry." He hadn't even glanced at the new guests, for he had no interest. He seemed to only want to be alone.

Oliver finally decided to interrupt. "Well, Santiago, we actually really do need to ask you some questions. There has been an incident..." He explained the mirror, the kidnapping of Spain, and the original nations, making sure not to leave any details out. By the end of it, Marisol looked awestruck, while Santiago's emotion resembled one of boredom. His eyes swept across the uncomfortable countries from the other universe, lingering on Romano for a second more. "So, you see, we could really use your help..."

"I don't want to help," he replied coldly, his expression blank. "I didn't take anyone. Now that you know this, get out. I don't care whether you believe me or not."

Allen took a hesitant step forward. "Alright, but you know things, right? Flavio, he's another suspect, and he might have told you something important. Just tell us what you know."

"I refuse." He nodded to Marisol. "Escort them out. If they don't want to leave, use force. _Adios_."

However, before the maid could obey her master's wishes, Romano dashed toward the Spaniard. Though the others tried to stop him, he ran up to Santiago, and gave him a stinging slap to his cheek. He looked a bit frightened, but mostly furious.

"_Idiota_!" he shouted, hands balling into fists. "I know your supposed to be the Spain if this shitty universe, but you don't deserve that title! Your fucking country is about passion and life, and you're none of that! You're practically a corpse! Spain is too good for this crazy world, and I'm going to bring him back home whether you like it or not! So tell us everything you know!" He paused, panting and glaring at the nation, who was rubbing his reddening cheek. "Wouldn't you care if it was Flavio, you fuck? I know you act like you can't feel a thing, but that has to be bullshit! You have to care about him, even if it's a little, and you'd do anything to get him back, wouldn't you? _Wouldn't you_?"

Santiago raised his hand, as if getting ready to strike. However, when Romano shut his eyes and waited for impact, he felt nothing but air. He opened one, and there was the parallel Spanish nation, staring at him with an unreadable expression. It was almost one of remorse and was that...longing? His lips formed into a thin line, and he dropped his arm, looking off to the side. "_Dios mío_...you're really annoying. You're not like him, either."

"Tragic. Now tell us about mirrors, bastardo, and we'll be on our way." Romano ignored the shock looks he got from everyone else in the room. He himself wasn't sure why the Spaniard relented, but he wasn't going to question it now.

He huffed, leaning back in his seat. "The mirror in my bathroom has been replaced, so I wasn't the one to pull him in. What more is there to say?"

"Who did you give the mirror to?"

"...Flavio," he muttered, glowering at Veneziano when he let out a gasp. "But I don't know why he would kidnap your Spain. He doesn't have a reason to."

Marisol snorted, then blushed when the others looked at her.

"Oh, do you disagree, Marisol?" Santiago hissed, with a look of disapproval, daring the girl to reply.

"It's just...after all that happened..." She looked down, teeth grazing her lip. "You can't blame him for getting angry with you, _señor, _especially after-"

"_Silencio_!" he snapped, effectively shutting the girl up.

"He's angry at you? Why?" England inquired, taking a step forward but immediately retracting when a pointed glare was aimed at him. Apparently Romano was the only one who was allowed to speak directly to Santiago.

"Reasons. It's not important." He pondered for a moment. "Well, maybe he did do it. I don't know. Go and see for yourself." He seemed disgruntled at the idea of his South Italy being some kind of criminal, and it showed.

Marisol shook her head. "Shouldn't we let them stay the night? It's getting awfully late, _señor, _and they must be exhausted from all of this. Besides, tomorrow is a new day, and maybe they'll find their friend!"

"Oh, no. That's kind of you, _bella_, but we really need to-" Romano was cut off, however, by an annoying Englishman.

"That sounds wonderful! Thank you very much, miss," Oliver sang, beaming at Marisol, who smiled back nervously. "We have to do some planning, anyway. We can't just show up at the Italy house all willy-nilly! Luciano wouldn't like that one bit!" He paid no attention to the fuming Romano, smiling solely at Santiago. "That isn't a problem, is it?"

The Spaniard looked as if he wanted to deny Oliver, mainly because of who he was, but glanced at Romano once more. He grit his teeth. "...Fine. There are extra rooms upstairs, settle it all out. The red door is my bedroom. Now leave my office, _por favor_."

Satisfied with this answer, Oliver spun on his heels, skipping out the room along with Allen and the other weary nations. All that remained was the slightly irritated Italian, who crossed his arms defiantly. "So, now that those idiots are gone, tell me why my other self is a crazy fucker." He put up a hand before the other could protest. "Marisol here told us you did something that made him angry. So what was it? It can stay between us, if you're so fucking insecure. I don't care. Let me guess, you weren't the greatest caregiver in the world, and he wants revenge? I bet he hated you."

Santiago looked down, staring at the floor for a moment, before opening a drawer on his desk. He pulled out a picture, shoving it into Romano's hands. "He made that for me when he was small. So no, it wasn't because he disliked me. Actually, I couldn't get him to stay away, which was annoying to say the least."

Romano examined the picture, which was a sloppy drawing of Santiago, with a believable scowl sketched in. Next to him was a kid he assumed to be Flavio, in a clumsy dress and yellow hair. It was...endearing, actually. It reminded him of the small pictures he used to draw for Spain, except he was much too shy to show him.

"Hmmph. I guess he didn't hate you..." Romano gave the drawing back, with a raised eyebrow. "Why'd you keep it, anyway? It isn't even that good."

The Spanish nation didn't answer, but he didn't have to, for Marisol cut in. "Flavio was very dear to Mr. Santiago, even if he won't admit it. That boy was everything to him and yet..." She lowered her eyes. "He drove him away..."

"It wasn't my fault," hissed Santiago, gazing wistfully at the picture. "It was his. His stupid feelings ruined it, Marisol, not me."

"Can one of you please explain this shit to me?" Romano asked, exasperated. "What the fuck happened between you two?"

Santiago chuckled, a foreign noise that was not pleasant. "It's a long story..."

Marisol shook her head. "But we've got time. Please, sit down, _señor_, and we'll tell you all you need to know about Flavio."

The Italian sat down obediently, looking up at the two. He was about to find out the history of his own parallel self, who was known for being crazy, and had kidnapped his own Spain.

He couldn't tell if this was a good idea or not.

* * *

**LOUD SHRUGGING NOISES**

**look I really tried man cut me some slack. **

**so next chapter we're gonna take a break from this story and delve deep into the past of Flavio, a truly troubled individual. **

**and then I guess you can form your own opinions about the cute, little asshole. **


	4. So what?

**Without further ado, the flashback chapter! Warning for slight gore, abuse, and sex. Because this is really, really fucked up lm a o **

**Flavio is a lil shit basically**

* * *

When the vase shattered, it was exactly how Flavio's heart felt. He only wanted to get the dust off, but he was too rough with the feather duster, and he wasn't quick enough to stop it. Terrified, he went to fetch the broom before he was caught by his superior, but froze midway to the supply closet by the sound of heavy footsteps. No, he was too late. The boy straightened his back, trying to look professional as his boss marched into the room.

Immediately, he noticed the broken vase, and his eyes narrowed dangerously. Without a word, he grabbed Flavio by the curl in his hair, ignoring the sharp squeals and whimpers from the child. He pulled him to the hallway closet by his room, throwing him inside. He shut the door, locking it before walking off.

Flavio began to bawl, slamming his tiny fists against the door. There was no light in this room, and he was terribly afraid of the dark, even though Santiago had done this many times before. He hit the hard wood over and over, until he could feel wet blood on his knuckles. Defeated, he sank to the floor, curling up.

It was so embarrassing to constantly disappoint his boss like this, when he only wanted Santiago to be proud of him. He wanted some kind of love and affection from his dear boss, for he admired him so. Such a strong nation, who was feared across the world because of how powerful he was. Flavio was just his little underling, the one who was supposed to do his bidding. But he still managed to screw it up, just like he screwed everything up.

He stared into the darkness glumly. If Luciano was here instead of him, he'd probably make Santiago proud. He was the stronger of the two Italies, and was always preying on small animals to hunt with his little knives. He made big brother Roland proud. Why couldn't Flavio do the same for Santiago? He'd do anything to please his boss. Absolutely anything...

About an hour later, the door was unlocked, and the small Italian scrambled out, bowing to his solemn caretaker. "Forgive me, Mr. Santiago! I-I didn't mean to break the vase...I'll save up money to buy you a new one..."

"Forget it," grumbled the larger nation, reaching into his pocket and handing Flavio a few coins. "Go buy vegetables for dinner. Be quick, and don't let anyone steal it this time, _mocoso_, or you'll really be sorry." He was so emotionless when he said this. It made Flavio shiver in a way he didn't quite understand.

"_Sí_..." The child bowed once more, putting the coins into his pocket and running off to complete the task. He could feel Santiago's eyes burn into his back, and he made sure not to trip over his own two feet like a clumsy moron.

As he walked to the marketplace, he thought more about his wonderful boss. He had scars from years of fighting and battles, and although the boy had heard the cold Belgian nation, Anri, speak ill of his appearance, Flavio very much preferred his rugged looks. It made him delighted, and he turned into a mess whenever Santiago got too close to him. He couldn't quite comprehend these feelings, but they felt good, so they must have been reasonable.

As he was walking toward the market, crowded with people getting their dinners for the evening, he felt a pull on his dress and a cold knife press against his neck. "Give me your fucking money, _puta_," hissed the offender, holding his palm out in front of Flavio's face.

Thieves. Flavio was always their main target, because all who lived in Spain knew that he lived with their nation's personification. The only reason he left the house was to buy goods for his boss, so the criminals knew immediately he was easy money. No many how many times Flavio begged Santiago to send someone else, he only received scolding for not fighting back in the first place. Of course he was right, as per usual.

"N-No...I need to buy things..." He glanced the knife at his throat. Sure, he wouldn't die, but it would hurt a lot. It was a cowardly reason to be afraid, but the child just couldn't help it.

The pressure on his neck intensified, and the offender growled, "Give it up, _chica_, or you'll really regret it." That wounded Flavio. Because of his worn dresses, delicate features, and high pitched voice, everyone mistook him for a girl. Men would whistle and make obscene gestures whenever he came into the marketplace. Interestingly enough, his boss was more concerned with him being catcalled than him being robbed. Flavio didn't understand why.

"I need to buy food...for _Spagna_! Don't you want to please your nation?" he tried, attempting to wiggle out of his strong grip.

"Like I care. I hope this disgusting nation dies, with how miserable everyone always is. _España_ is a failure in my eyes, and I'm sure everyone will agree." Flavio stopped struggling at these words, face growing blank and mind swimming nonsensically. Failure? How dare this common human say that about Santiago? He was the bravest nation, he worked harder than anyone! Maybe he was a little poor, but he did everything to try and help his people! All of them were just so..._ungrateful_. It made the child's blood boil, overwhelming him with fury.

"Once I save enough money, I'm leaving this damn country. Maybe the British would take me in, they're much more successful anyway, and-" It happened so quickly. Flavio grabbed the knife, pried it out of the startled man's hand, and turned around. Face still empty of emotion, he jammed the weapon right into the thief's throat, digging it deep before shoving it out. The human sputtered, collapsing to the ground, eyes rolled up. Blood pooled next to his neck, and he seemed to be trying to say something, but was unable to make it coherent.

Soon, realization sank in for the boy, and his eyes widened in horror. He had just killed another. A weak, pathetic human being. With a sob, he ran back to the house, not stopping even when his little legs began to ache. He needed forgiveness. Only one could give it to him.

Santiago actually looked somewhat surprised to see the tiny nation's dress splattered with blood, and how hard he panted for breath. "What happened? Did you get robbed again?" He looked ready to chastise Flavio for this, frowning when he shook his head. "Then what?"

"I...I..." he began, trembling. He began to bawl, covering his face. "I killed a person! One of the thieves..."

"You _what_?" Santiago picked the child up, shaking him violently, eyes flashing with indignation. "Why? Why would you do that? _Answer me, Romano_!"

Flavio hiccupped, trying to speak through his sobs. Romano. He had called him by his nation, not his name. It broke the boy's heart even further. "H-He spoke bad of _Spagna_! He c-called you a failure! I-I got so angry...I didn't mean to! _Mi dispiace_! _Perdonami_!"

The shaking stopped, and Santiago stared at the child's red, tear streaked face. "What? You killed him for insulting me?"

He received a numb nod in return. "He said he'd go to Britain after he stole our money! I didn't want him to..." He shut his eyes, expecting a hit or a kick from his boss. He was surprised, however, when he was gently placed onto the ground. He looked up, wide eyes sparkling with tears. "Santiago...?"

"Go to your room. Now. Change your clothes, too..." He wasn't looking at Flavio anymore, eyes averted to the floor. He didn't look blank, nor did he look angry, he seemed almost...disappointed? When the boy stayed in place, he grew impatient. "I said go, Flavio! I'll deal with you later!"

The boy scurried away, trying not to cry again. Deal with him? What did that mean? Was he waiting for later to hurt him? Maybe he'd lock him in the closet for a whole day? He wailed at the thought, the idea of being in the dark for so long unbearable. He went to his tiny room, climbing onto the bed, and making sure to pray. Pray for forgiveness, and pray for hope, that his boss would be gentle toward him. At least, as gentle as he could muster. After minutes of mumbling to himself, the overwhelmed nation drifted off into sleep, his dreams filled with shrieks and blood.

When he woke up hours later, a rancid odor was in the air, and it smelled like the alcohol from the bottle Flavio had once sniffed in curiosity. He opened his eyes, and there was Santiago kneeling beside his bed, hands clasped together, muttering something under his breath. He seemed to be shaking, and the Italian reached over to place a tiny hand onto his arm. Immediately, his boss jumped and looked up.

"Flavio..._mi niño_..." he cooed, voice slurred and strained. He opened his arms invitingly, and the boy wasted no time in jumping into them, hugging the Spanish nation. He had waited so long for this kind of affection, and now he finally had it. If this was a dream, he never wanted to wake up. "Oh..._mi rayo de sol_...what have I done to you...?" He stroked the chestnut colored hair of the child, crooning to him ever so softly. His words confused the small boy, but that name stuck to him. _Mi rayo de sol_. It was the kind of pet name he had never been called so lovingly before. Santiago pulled away ever so slightly, to press his lips against the boy's forehead, his cheeks, and his chin, murmuring apologies.

"You didn't do anything wrong, boss," he argued, not wanting his idol to blame himself for Flavio's faults. "I killed someone...one of your people..."

"I should've helped you...with the thieves..." He looked at his henchman for a moment, and his expression changed to one of confusion. He leaned in slowly, brushing their noses together, and swore under his breath. "Too young...too small..."

"Huh?"

"Nothing. Let's go to sleep now, _sí_?" He received another nod from his boy, and curled up on the much smaller bed beside him. His underling snuggled against his chest, his crying long gone. "_Buenas noches_, _mi rayo de sol_..."

Flavio easily fell asleep with his boss with a small smile. Finally, Santiago showed him affection. Finally, he was loved.

* * *

He grabbed the yellow crayon eagerly, a big grin on his face. This new drawing was going to be a masterpiece, and more importantly, Santiago would love it. He scribbled the bright color on top of the drawing of him, beaming. It was a recurring habit, making the fictional version of himself have bright blond hair. He wanted to make it a reality one day. He wanted to be boss's Sunshine.

Once finished with the picture, Flavio held it back to examine it. Perfect! A little clumsy, yes, but that was okay. It was the heart he put into it that counted. He skipped to his caretaker's office, opening the door carelessly. "Boss! Look what I made for y-"

He stopped midsentence, the sight before him causing a pang of nausea. There was Mr. Santiago, and one of the women that Flavio had seen around town. The lady was sitting on the desk, her dress pulled up above her knees and her legs spread. Santiago stood in front of her, his hips moving rhythmically and a hand clutching her hair, eyes widening when he spotted his tiny henchman staring. "Flavio! _Mierda_!" He pushed the woman off, making her shriek with surprise.

The Italian nation quickly bolted out of the door, ignoring the yells from his boss to return. He felt so upset, so confused...and so, so angry! Rage boiled within him, making him tremble. How dare that disgusting woman touch his boss like that? Her arms were wrapped around his neck, and she was kissing him! Didn't she know that Santiago belonged to _Flavio_? She deserved to have her blood spilled on the walls! She deserved the worst kind of death!

He stopped running, brows furrowing in wonderment. Where had this possessive streak of anger come from? He had never really thought of Santiago as his before...but the more he thought about it, the more it made sense. He was Santiago's underling, no one else. Santiago only showed his emotions, no matter how fleeting or cruel, to him and him only. Sure, he locked him in the closet sometimes when he was bad, but that was only for discipline. He was helping Flavio. So this whore thought she could just steal him away?

Before he could ponder more on this infuriating subject, his boss marched up to him, picking him up and pulling him into a brief hug. "Flavio..._lo siento_..." he murmured, kissing his cheek. "I should have locked the door...I should have told you..."

"You shouldn't have been doing it at all!" snapped the boy, surprising the Spanish nation. He never talked back to his beloved caretaker like that. "Why? Why her? I don't understand!"

"...She means nothing to me. It is for pleasure, _mi niño_, you must understand..." It was strange to explain these things to a child, even if it was one who was older than he looked. Flavio's mind was still so innocent. "When adults get...a feeling, we like to do those kinds of things together...it helps..."

"Then..." Flavio thought for a moment, before lifting up his own dress, eyes determined. "Do those things with me, instead! You like me more, right? So it'll be better than some mean old lady!" He was puzzled by the horrified look that spread across his boss's face. What was the problem? Maybe he wasn't saying it right...he thought of what Anri would scream whenever she invited guys over when Santiago wasn't home. "F-_Fuck_ me, Boss. Aren't I pretty enough? I look better than that _puta_!" There. A little Spanish would help his case.

Immediately, his dress was yanked down by a sputtering Santiago. "Don't...don't ever say that again! Do you hear me? You are just a baby, Flavio, you don't even know what that means..."

"I am not! I know that it means you'll like me better! I'm old enough!" he shouted, stomping his foot stubbornly. "What's wrong with me? I want to be perfect for you! I want to be _yours, _Boss!" He reached for his boss, but the man jerked back, eyes wide with mortification.

He stepped back from the boy, breathing heavily. "I'm...going to take a nap. _Siesta_ time. Go clean something, Flavio." He spun around, quickly walking off before his henchman could say anything else.

Flavio felt sadness and rage mix within his tiny body. His sweet, sweet boss had denied him. Why? He said it was because he was child, but that was probably a lie. He must have despised Flavio after all. Thought of him as some gross, desperate kid.

He looked at his drawing, determination coursing throughout him. Well, he would change that. He would be the perfect nation for Santiago. His _rayo de sol_. No matter what.

But first, he would have to deal with that woman. He looked around, then opened the supply closet, grabbing one of the gardening tools. Sharp enough to pierce the skin, but not kill her immediately. He could have some fun with her filthy body.

He happily skipped off, humming a happy tune as he went to murder a second useless parasite.

* * *

Flavio looked into the mirror, awed at the new color of his hair. So many years had passed since Santiago called him by that adorable nickname, but finally, he completed his task of actually being his Sunshine. By a magical thing called hair dye.

His once boring brown hair was replaced by sunny blond. He looked so different, much more gorgeous. The light color seemed absolutely vibrant against the rest of his Mediterranean skin. This would win the approval of his ex-boss for sure. Grabbing one of his signature pink scarves, he looped it around his neck and shouted a sweet goodbye to his little brother, before heading out.

He wasn't sure why he still stayed with his little brother, he went to Santiago's house nearly every day. He had left so long ago as a child, but that was due to him and his brother's reunification, and how they suddenly grew. No longer was he a short, chubby, wide-eyed little kid. He was tall (though not nearly as tall as Santiago) and slender, his baby fat completely gone. Women and men alike ogled at his appearance, and his immaculate style. No more was he the shy, pathetic child that wore stupid maid's outfits. He was Flavio, South Italy, loved by all.

Tonight was the night he would woo the most important man. His former caretaker. The man he had done so many awful things for. Finally, they could be together.

It didn't take long to get there, as Flavio enlisted a private jet to take him to Spain whenever he wanted. Scheduling visits were not his thing, he liked it to be a surprise for the other. A surprise every day, really. He hummed a little, familiar tune to himself, perking up considerably when the plan landed a while later.

He practically skipped to his beloved's house, chatting with some citizens along the way. His knock was confident and loud, rocking back and forth on his feet while he waited to be answered. As per usual, it was Marisol who greeted him, the cute little maid Santiago kept immortal for some reason. At first, Flavio suspected because they were in some kind of affair, but it seemed like this woman was just a really good maid for the Spaniard. Thank goodness, he liked Marisol too much to make her suffer.

"_Hola_, Flavio!" she chirped, and her eyes widened at the sight of his hair. "Ah...you dyed your hair? _Es maravilloso_! I'm sure _señor_ will love it!

Flavio chuckled; Marisol always knew what to say. "That's what I'm hoping for, Mari. Speaking of which, where is Santiago?" He peered into the large house eagerly.

"Oh, he's having his _siesta_ time. Do you want to come in anyway? We could wait..."

"No need. I'll just go up and see him!" Flavio shrugged, gently pushing Marisol aside and rushing to the steps.

"Wait! I-I wouldn't do that! _Señor_ really doesn't like anyone to bother him while he sleeps..." she warned, frowning when the Italian nation waved it off carelessly.

"Please. I know him better than anyone, he won't get angry at _me_." He giggled at the thought, ignoring the rest of Marisol's warnings in favor of climbing the rest of the stairs. He strode to Santiago's room, excitement bubbling within him. Once outside his door, he quickly fixed his hair, making sure not a single strand was out of place. Taking a deep breath, he opened it and confidently stepped inside. "Oh, Boss! Your favorite underling has a surprise for you!" he sang, with a soft chuckle.

There was a pause. Then, gradually, the lump on the bed moved a bit. Santiago sat up slowly, rubbing his eyes and yawning. "It's _siesta_ time, Flavio...so why the fuck am I awake then...?" he grumbled, opening his eyes slightly. They snapped open wide when he noticed the new hair color of the Italian, mouth dropping. "What...what in God's name did you do to your hair?"

The tone of his voice made Flavio frown, confused. He sounded both annoyed and bewildered. Not at all pleased. What was wrong? He approached the bed, climbing next to his beloved. "Well, I dyed it, of course. See? Doesn't it look nice? Doesn't it kind of look like...sunshine?"

"...What?"

A pang of disappointment hit the blond. He didn't remember? "When...I was a kid you once called me your _rayo de sol_. Remember that?" There was only silence, and he began to panic. "Come on, you have to remember...it was when I killed that thief! You came into my room and hugged me and called me that."

Santiago pursed his lips, thinking for a moment. "...Oh. Yeah. I was drunk when I said that."

Pain. Actual pain seeped into Flavio's body, and tears pricked his eyes beneath the designer sunglasses. So he didn't mean it? The pet name that meant the most to him, the one he aspired to be...it wasn't even real.

The Spaniard must have realized that he was clearly upset, so he backtracked. "But, I mean, I guess I did say it. I didn't, uh, think it meant so much to you...I didn't know you'd change your hair color because of a stupid nickname..."

"It's not stupid!" he snapped, taking off the sunglasses so his ex-caretaker could see the tears in his eyes. "Do you know how happy I was? I wanted to be your _Sunshine_! I wanted to be perfect for _you_! I spent every single day making myself desirable for _you_!"

"Desirable...?"

Flavio stopped. Wait. Perhaps he wasn't good enough to mean so much to Santiago, but maybe...he could finally have him in a different sense? Sex would make him see how wonderful his former henchman was. He smiled coyly, casually sliding onto the nation's lap, straddling him. "Yes...desirable. Remember when I was a kid, and I told you to fuck me? That was pretty bad, but...I get why you said no. I was pretty pathetic. Now..." He pressed their bodies together, brushing his lips against the rigid man's ear. "I'm good enough for you to finally take?"

Santiago's breath hitched, and slowly, as if doing it any faster would be too dangerous, his arms wrapped around the Italian's waist. "...Why? Why do you want me to do this to you...?"

This made the boy on his lap giggle. "Why...? Because I love you, Boss. I always have...you were the only one who never got tired of me and left..." He pulled back slightly, to stroke the man's cheek. "You were always there. I _need_ you, Santiago, always and forever. _Ti amo_." Lightly, he connected their lips, in a kiss that began as chaste, but soon spiraled into something dirtier.

His ex-caretaker's movements were hesitant and slow, but not resistant. He didn't stop himself from stripping the writhing Italian nation of his clothes, though his eyes held regret. His kisses were quick and sloppy, as if he wanted to get it over with as fast as he could. Despite all of these reluctant actions, he never pulled away.

Flavio was in pure bliss. After so many years of fantasizing about this man, he was finally allowed pleasure, one of the best kinds. Did it hurt? Yes, of course. When Santiago was inside of him, it stung awfully bad, and he raked his nails down the nation's back, gasping out. But it was still perfect, because together, he felt the two of them were connected in the most intimate way. It was wonderful.

When it ended, it felt disappointing, yet satisfying. Santiago had released inside of him, had taken a part of himself and put it within Flavio. Maybe he was just romanticizing things, but he didn't care. This was special.

After it was over, and Santiago was panting next to him, Flavio wrapped his arms tightly around his chest, giggling. "See? Wasn't that great? Can't you see how in love with you I-"

"Get out."

"What?" Flavio looked up at him, his brows furrowing. "What do you mean?"

"I mean leave. Right now."

The Italian exploded, pushing the man he once called Boss hard. "Why? I want to stay here with you! I want you to _adore_ me! Don't you _love_ me? I was a good henchman, right? The best! So I deserve _something_ for being so faithful! _Amami, Santiago_!" He would have screamed more at the Spaniard, but was silenced by a stinging slap to his cheek.

"You are still a fucking child, even if you look like an adult now. We're nations, Flavio, we're not people. We can't do what they can. We'll be on this earth forever and forever, until one day, we disappear. Do we go to heaven? Hell? Are we even supposed to exist? I don't know, but what I do know, is that we aren't like the humans. Even if I do love you, would it matter? I can't unite my nation with yours, and you can't do the same with mine. Our love is useless."

"But we don't have to love like nations! We-"

"We really do. Because we are." He shook his head, averting his eyes from the tearful Italian. "If it was any different..."

Flavio looked down, a hand on his aching cheek, trying his hardest not to cry. Not here. Not now. "But it's not."

"...You should go."

Silently, the Italian collected his clothes, and went over to the door, stopping there for a moment. He looked over at his beloved. "_Ti amo_."

Santiago looked up at him, his expression blank, as per usual. "So what?"

* * *

"Really? That's the last thing you said to him?" Romano demanded, snapping Marisol out of her story telling daze. "'So what?' What the fuck is wrong with you?"

Santiago grunted, eyes averted from the hotheaded nation. He hadn't made eye contact since his maid had begun the story. "Yeah. I'm not that great at words. What else was I going to say to him? That I loved him back? My feelings are irrelevant."

"Uh, no, they're really fucking not? Just because you're nations doesn't mean anything. Just kiss and be crazy assholes together."

The Spaniard raised an eyebrow, smirking just a bit. "Just like you and your empty-headed Spain? You're just so in love with each other, huh?"

Romano flushed, embarrassed and infuriated by these questions. "Well, no. But that's different...I don't...love Spain, not like that..."

"You're a really bad liar. You came to another fucking dimension to save him. Sure, it might be that you just care about him, but maybe not. You believe in that shit about love, don't you? That it can battle anything?"

"No! I am the last fucking person who believes in that shit! Spain probably believes it more than I do. The fucking idiot."

Santiago tilted his head, standing up. "So if he confessed to you, you wouldn't be affected? You'd be totally fine if he just went up to you and said..." He stood in front of him, grabbing his chin and pulling him close, their noses brushes together. "_Te amo_," he cooed, in a voice that was far too close to the sweeter Spain's.

Instantly, Romano smacked his hand away, his cheeks an alarming pink. "Fuck...okay, maybe the idea of me loving the moron isn't...that stupid. But so what? We aren't fucking train wrecks like the two of you."

He was given a cold smile at this statement. "Love will destroy you two. You'll get into it, be happy for a while, then you'll realize. You're both nations, with people to take care of, with differing opinions. The stress of fixing things, of trying to get your two populations to get along, will ruin you."

Romano stared, disturbed with how plainly this was said. "What you described...that's fucking horrifying."

"That's love."

* * *

**FFFFUUUUCKKK i didn't know how to end this he h**

**now we're done with Flavio's story. Or...are we? There is still quite a gap with when he left Santiago and when he kidnapped Spain. We're not done yet kids. **


End file.
